Fever Dream
by louene
Summary: After being abandoned by the Team after the successful inception, Ariadne completed school and adjusted to ordinary life. However, what if the a certain team member needs her skill again?  Arthur/Ariadne  Horrible summary.
1. Resurfacing

Ariadne raised her chin just a fraction. She leaned closer to the mirror of the anonymous public restroom and, after looking over her shoulder to make sure no one could see her, bared her teeth. After running her finger over them a few times, they passed inspection. Her brown eyes stared expectantly into their reflection, "You've got this." The words were the hoarse echo of confidence, but better than nothing.

Several moments later she was flicking the lights off and slipping quietly through the door.

The office of Leiberman & Bach was a potent combination of elegant and edgy, just as one would expect of an architectural conglomerate. Ariadne, though, seemed quite unimpressed as she crossed over the babbling brook that flowed through the lobby. Her leather boots, an addition to her sense of fashion that not even Paris had gotten rid of, clicked smartly as she navigated her way through labyrinth of hallways towards the main elevators.

"Ariadne?" A voice called from behind her.

She stopped. The familiar tenor of it sent shivers down her spine.

She turned tucking hair behind her ear and looking over her shoulder towards the man. His smart suit and slicked back hair shimmered like a mirage, teasing and tormenting her. She stared, silent, allowing him to close the distance between them- like a rabbit in the headlights of a car.

"You've got that look again," he said, lips pulling into an amused smile.

The daze fractured. She smiled, albeit a bit tightly, in return. "You reminded me-"

"- of some dream." He finished for her, oblivious of the way her expression darkened with the casual dismissal. "So, what about dinner this-." It was her turn to cut him off.

Ariadne turned away from him, nodding, feet once again pushing her into motion. "I've got the interview today, Peters. No time to chat." He watched her leave, rejection-pains showing in his baby-blue eyes.

She didn't turn to smile or see if he was following her. Her whole mind was bent upon keeping the memories down. Just when Ariadne had thought she had sectioned off her mind to handle anything, they seeped up from the grave she had dug from them. There was always something to remind her of the Team. The single greatest moment of her life. The inception.

Shaking her head to try to physically rid herself of this alley of thought, she reminded herself- people were waiting on her. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for these two long years. An interview that could lead her out of here- out of the sad offices filled with sad people, back abroad to cultures and buildings more interesting than the Plexiglas and plastic structures they had her dreaming up. Ever since…

Ever since they had separated- the dreams had ended- and she had been alone.

For a while, she had hoped, more than anything else in the world, that Cob. Hell, even Arthur. Or, damn, Saito, Yusuf, Eames… Mal. She would have taken any of them willingly just to confirm they hadn't been her late-night inventions. That she hadn't created them on the floor of her messy apartment in Paris to fill one of her magnificent, but empty, buildings. She'd long ago decided that delusion was far less painful than the truth.

The truth that they were out there. Real and, most likely, breathing, but had absolutely no intention of seeking her out. Ariadne had been shown the majesty of the dreamscape, and after Saito's job, she'd been abandoned.

There had been no closure, no explination- just hope. Though, at the time, she hadn't known it was false hope. At the time, she hadn't known that even though she walked around every corner hoping to see one of them smiling, waiting for her, needing her- they had already flown south for the winter. And she had been left outside to freeze.

Ariadne came to realize that she had been standing at the door for several moments, examining the wood grain. It loomed ominously over her slight frame. She smoothed her hand over the blouse, adjusted her suspenders, and took a shaky breath before raising her knuckles.

"Come in," came through the door.

She entered revealing the large office, walls lined with bookshelves except for the occasional window here and there. Books, photos, expensive scotch, nicknacks from traveling abroad, and models lived on the dark-polished wood, each neatly placed and hyper-organized. The color and structure on the shelves never ceased to leave her awe-struck. It was the perfect color-palette.

Behind the desk, Choi Eun Sun watched her, eyebrows elevated in surprise. "Ariadne?" The accent-laden voice spun her name oddly. "What can I help you with?"

"The interview? Wasn't it today?" She turned her wrist over, examining the face of the watch. "It's twelve fifteen exactly. They should be here," she added, mostly to herself.

"Oh." A sigh caught the syllable and expanded it. Ariadne's hand nervously wrung together, pulling her pinky and twisting. "You haven't heard? Peters told me he'd let you know."

She grimaced. So, that's what he had been getting at. "They cancelled?"

Eun Sun chuckled. "On you? Not likely." Rifling through a stack of papers on the desk, she came up with a small note- scrawled in the woman's orderly hand was 'Donald Street. 235. Right at Pier 32.' "They wanted to have you on-sight of one of their projects, live test, or something like that."

Ariadne looked from address to her boss, blinking. "A test?" She couldn't help but to remember a maze designed in two minutes that took one minute to solve.

"Go. Go before I change my mind and keep you here for the rest of your life." The faux-indignation spurred her back through the exit and running down the hallway. It'd take her at least an hour to make it across town.

* * *

Ariadne parked her Bonneville Triumph on the curb outside of 235 Donald Street; the classic motorcycle quieted as she slammed down the stand and flew off at a run towards the old, crumbling building. She didn't seem much more than the red brick and the boarded up windows as she approached, and the thought didn't occur to her that the area was perfectly isolated. A deserted part of town, an shabby historic district.

Very conscious of the fact she was nearly an hour late, she threw open the door, apologies already on her lips. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Cunningham. I hadn't been informed of the location change until just-" That was when she discovered it. The unique furniture scattered over the floor. The computer in the back corner.

They looked up at her, three different sets of eyes.

The first, Edmunde H. Cunningham, she recognized from the profile shot she had received before the interview. His photo had not included the row of piercings down his left ear or his imposing height- she guessed about six and half feet, at least.

Her eyes flitted to the leering gaze of the second man. She averted her gaze, quickly. He had the distinct essence of a predator. He commanded attention, not the other way around, and Ariadne hardly wanted to encourage someone like him.

The third was a woman. Her red hair caught the dim light and inspired the imagination. She didn't smile, nor show any sign of friendliness. Instead, her blue eyes, bright enough to be identified half-way across the room, examined the short, brunette as if she were inferior.

"… a while ago," Ariadne finished lamely. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

"Not at all," Edmunde spoke up. Apparently English, by the accent. "We should have informed your company earlier." His hand, as large and imposing as he himself was, motioned her closer.

She laughed, politely ducking the duty of responding, and approached, taking off her helmet as she came, just having realized she still wore it.

"This," he clapped the mulatto man on the back, "is Sasha Marrick. Sasha, say hello."

She couldn't miss the look he tossed him, contempt would have been putting it lightly. "Hey, dear heart." He practically crooned at her. "At least you're worth the wait."

Ariadne blinked, brow furrowing in confusion. "Isn't that a bit… premature. You haven't even asked me any questions yet."

His eyes laughed back at her. It took the woman letting out a bark of disbelieving laughter for it to hit her- he had been hitting on her. Luckily, Edmunde saved her from further humiliation, even as her cheeks turned a pitiful shade of pink.

"And this, would be Devon Pardeux." The woman sniffed indignantly, looking away, towards a dark corner of the open space. "… Devon." The woman glanced up at Edmunde, smiling tightly, before turning on her heels and walking down a decaying hallway and into the darkness beyond.

Edmunde clapped his hand together, unperturbed. "Now, we have a few things to clear up," his baritone hum held an air of excitement.

Ariadne looked up him, swallowing hard, trying to keep her expression from showing her dismay and confusion- feeling rather like a child on her first day of school. "Clear up?"

"Yes, well, first off- we're not really offering you a position at Stockard." He paused, letting his words settle.

She blinked, the steady beat of his voice making the words sound nearly reasonable.

"Second, we're not actually interested in the remodeling of this building; although, it does certainly need it." He sniffed at the surroundings in displeasure.

She couldn't quite put the pieces together. Her stomach felt like it was sinking to her ankles. "… what?"

Edmunde offered, "Look behind you."

She took a deep breath, and set her half-open mouth to work. "Give me one good reason-"

Edmunde smiled and extended a hand to force her. She shrunk back away from him, until, of course, she hit into something firm and organic behind her. A body. She spun around to face it, arm poised to strike.

She jerked to a stop as her wrist connected with a palm. Long fingers wrapped around her, holding her still. Panicked eyes followed the hand to it's elbow, where a white dress-shirt was folded up. A vest of aquamarine silk, was eye-level with her. Tipping her head back, Ariadne was caught in his steady gaze. The corners of his lips pulled up into the ghost of a smile. She blinked, transfixed.

"Arthur?" She murmured. Her thoughts went to the long-discarded Bishop now littering her desk amid other paper-weight clutter. Despite the flurry of thoughts that had been over-taking her, her mind went completely blank. "… what are-"

"Sorry, Ariadne." He whispered, turning her arm until it pinned her to him.

"… sorry?" She parroted back to him, eyes wide and mind stunned.

It was then, that his other hand came up, covering her mouth with a damp, white cloth. She breathed in the toxic fumes. Without much panic at all, her eyes fluttered closed and her body limp.


	2. Tom's Diner

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Inception. Christopher Nolan (and whoever he gave it to) does, so yeah.

**A/N:** Thanks so much for the awesome response. I know I didn't post a note on the last one, just trying to see what the response would be. And wow, I was really shocked. I'll try to keep it coming. Glad to know there are other Arthur/Ariadne fans out there. Hope you enjoy this installment.

* * *

**F **_E_** V** _E _**R . . . . . . . . . d **_r _ **e** _a _**m**

m _a _e_ r _d ... R _E _V_ E _F

C H A P T E R T W O : _T o m ' s D i n e r_

* * *

"_Don't you think?" His voice called across the table to her._

_Ariadne looked up, head filled with a thick fog. She was in a diner. Tom's diner, the letters on the glass told her- though they were printed backwards. A cup of coffee and the discarded, torn husks of empty sugar packets. The man sitting opposite her, head shaved and left ear pierced, raised an eyebrow._

_An old man sat in front of a chess board at the counter. A cook behind a separator, reading the want ads. A waitress texting on her phone and smacking her gum obnoxiously. But, other than them, they were alone. _

_She was horrified to realize she had no idea what they had been talking about. "What was the question?" _

"_That building." He pointed across the street. She could see the number, 235, glinting the afternoon sun back at her. "I was commenting that the space could really be transformed with some Modern Expressionist architecture to break up the historical frames." _

_She remembered, as if from a dream, being in Eun Sun's office. The note. 235 Donald Street. The man in front of her, Edmunde Cunningham, lifted his cup of tea to his lips. _

_She turned her eyes out of the window and truly looked at the building across from them. After a few moments, she offered back, "I think that could be interesting, yes." Picking up her own coffee and sipping at it gingerly, it was just the way she liked it._

"… _but?" His grey eyes, which seemed to see right through her decorum, made her swallow hard. _

"_But, I personally think Neo-classical would look better. The modern might draw the eye, that's true. But, this is a historic district. People don't come here to explore the modern, but experience the classics." She set down her cup, finishing her opinion without reservations. _

"_Hmmm." He said, noncommittally. _

_The waitress appeared, carrying the coffee pot with her. Without asking whether or not Ariadne cared for more, she filled up the cup. "There you go, hun," her voice was husky from, no doubt, too many cigarettes. _

_Edmunde didn't look at her._

_She glided off back to the counter, and moved a black piece on the chess board in front of the old man. He stared at the board, unmoving. A brass bishop- he was looking at a brass bishop. _

"_There's only one more thing, Ariadne." _

_She looked back, a polite smile once again taking her features, "Yes?" _

"_What exactly where you doing that semester of graduate school?" His voice was level, and his expression light. But, she could see a vein in his forehead appearing as if he were frustrated. _

"_Which semester?" She said, though she knew without a doubt which semester he was talking of. Her eyes were pulled away from Edmunde's too look at the Bishop. What were the chances?_

"_The semester Robert Fischer dissolved his corporation." Without missing a beat, he snapped back. The agitation began to surface in his voice- though, his expression was still as smooth and pleasant as silk. _

_Ariadne paled. She couldn't form words. She could only succumb to a dizzying flurry of thoughts. "…who dissolved their company?" She did her best to stay calm, to control her expression, to not give herself away. "I don't know any Robert Fischer. Was he in Paris?" She lifted her coffee to her lips and covered her expression with the cup. What was going on? Had someone talked? Was she in danger? _

"_Ariadne. Do you remember how you got here?" He smiled. The smile of a little boy who'd done something wicked. _

"_Of course, I do…" But, did she? Ariadne looked out the window for her bike. She didn't see it. "I took a cab. I had to rush to get here because I didn't know about the change, so I took a cab." For a second, though, she would have sworn she could remember taking her bike, weaving in and out of traffic to get there at a half-reasonable hour. She never quite managed to imagine it. Everything seemed just out of her reach. Like a dream. A half-remembered dream. _

_The old man swiveled around to look at Edmunde. The cook peered over his paper. The waitress paused to glance while making another pot of coffee. _

"_Ariadne. Look behind you." _

_Her hand went down to her right pocket, where her totem had always stayed in the dreamscape. Her pocket was not empty. She reached numb fingers in- they touched the shocking cool of her bishop. It was enough. She didn't need to knock it over to know what it's very presence meant. She withdrew her hand, as if burned._

"… _turn around." He urged her._

_She complied, finally, turning at the waist, just in time to hear the door chime. Four figures entered. They all seemed familiar, but the one that drew her eye- she knew. Arthur. He looked perfect. _

_Her breath exited her lips in a panicked gasp. She was pulled into a sort of numb confusion. This couldn't be real, she rationalized. It was just a lucid dream._

_Edmunde spoke, and although unable to draw her eyes from Arthur, she listened intently. "He suggested you, you know. He said you're the best he's ever seen." She didn't know what to say, what to do. None of this made sense to her. So, she let her eyes slide over Arthur's suit and up to his brown eyes- he stared straight through her. A shiver ran up her spine. "He said you'd pick it back up quickly. That you'd want back in." _

_Finally, whatever had held his interest, broke it's hold. Arthur looked at Edmunde, eyebrows knitting down in disapproval. The message clear- 'Get on with it.'_

"_Would you, Ariadne? Would you take the chance if we offered it to-" He couldn't quite finish._

"_Yes." She threw out. Turning back to face him. She was ready to talk logistics, but he seemed to have other ideas. From underneath the table, his hand pulled a cocked CZ-75. The barrel was placed against her forehead. _

"_Then, we'll see you on the other side." Pausing a moment, he offered, as if an after-thought. "Ready?"_

_She nodded. It would simply wake her. This was only a dream. He squeezed the trigger. BAM._

_

* * *

_

_**ENDNOTE:** I promise, next bit there will be some Arthur/Ariadne interaction. Heheheheh. And some more explanation of what the hells going on. Thanks for sticking with me. 3Louene_


End file.
